I expected another rant, an outburst about the loyalty of Cadogan vamps. I didn't expect his silence. I didn't expect him to walk to the love seat and sit down, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. I didn't expect him to run his hands through his hair, then rest his head in his hands.

But that was what he did. And the move, the posture, was so humble, so tired, and so very, very human, that I had the sudden, surprising urge to reach out, to touch his shoulder, to comfort him.

It was a moment of weakness, of yet another breach in the defenses I'd tried to erect against Ethan Sullivan.

And that, of all the goddamn times, was when the hunger rose.

I nearly lost my breath from the sudden race of fire through my limbs, and had to grip the back of the love seat to stay upright. My stomach clenched, pain radiating in waves through my abdomen. I went light-headed, and as I touched my tongue to the tip of an eyetooth, I could feel the sharp bite of fang.

I swallowed instinctively.

I needed blood. Now.

"Ethan." Luc said his name, and I heard rustling behind me.

A hand gripped my arm, and I snapped my head to look. Ethan stood next to me, green eyes wide. "First Hunger," he announced.

But the words meant nothing.

I looked down at his long fingers on my arm, and felt the warm rush of fire again. I curled my toes against it, reveled in the heat of it.

This meant something. The feeling, the need, the thirst. I looked up at Ethan, dragging my gaze past the triangle of skin that showed through the top, unfastened button of his shirt, then the column of his neck, the strong line of his jaw, and the sensuous curves of his lips.

I wanted blood, and I wanted it from him.

"Ethan," I whispered in a voice so husky I barely recognized it.

Ethan's lips parted, and I saw the flash of silver in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by smoky green. I edged closer to his body, wet my lips, and then, without a single thought as to the consequences or what the act admitted, pressed them to his throat. He smelled so good - clean, soapy, everything male and masculine. He tasted so good - of power and man. The ends of his hair brushed my cheek as I kissed the long line of his neck.

"Ethan," I whispered again, his name an invitation.

A promise.

He went statue-still as I pressed a kiss to the skin just below his ear. I could hear blood singing in the veins that lay millimeters below the press of my teeth. Then he sighed, and the sound echoed through my head, an acknowledgment of shared passion, of mutual desire.

The others around us began to talk. I didn't want talk. I wanted action. Heat. Motion. I scraped my teeth against his neck - not breaking skin, just enough to hint at what I wanted. Of the direction I would take. His pulse raced, and I fought not to bite in too quickly, not to rush the pleasure of it.

But through the burn of arousal, something cold, unwanted pricked. I shook my head and pushed it back.

"Liege, you can't feed her the first time. She needs human or Novitiate blood. You've got too much power for a first feeding. She's strong enough as it is."

Ethan growled but didn't move. He stayed exactly where he was, beneath my lips, a silent submission. Pleased, I slid my hands around his waist.

"Get her off him, Lucas!"

I felt the cold touch again - a drop of chilled water against my heated skin. Irritating. Unwelcome. It was my conscience, I realized, begging me to wake up, to shoulder through the hunger. But superego warred with deep-seated instinct and latent attraction.